


Fear of Intimacy

by supremegreendragon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Experienced!France, Jealousy, M/M, Toys, Virgin!England, Wet Dream, fear of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supremegreendragon/pseuds/supremegreendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England is in love with France, yet at the same time fears the thought of being too close to anyone. When France finds out, he decides to help England. Whether England wants his help or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreams

The next meeting was in London, so of course all the other countries were packing all their own meals. They didn’t trust British food to be appetizing. England scoffed at their willingness to stereotype every single one of his people. Besides, fish and chips were bloody delicious, even America could attest to that since he had it so often as a young boy, eagerly dipping the fried food into his coleslaw. England stopped himself from remembering too much about America’s youth, for it always ended up hurting him to the core.

So since it was his turn to present, England was busy preparing his opening speech for tomorrow. America would want to go immediately after him as he always did in the London meetings. England didn’t know why the spectacled nation bothered, he never had anything new to say after all. All his ideas revolved around making a giant robotic superhero that would save the earth, no matter how many times the other nations explained to him that it was impossible. England sighed. Oh well.

He heard his phone buzzed beside him. Did America want to spend the night over again? England looked at his phone and his stomach fell. It was a text from the damn frog. The name on the phone was simply Frog Face but anyone who knew England would know who it was.

**Just arrived ;) Will you come and get me? I’m so lonely in this airport.**

England knew better than to ignore the texts. The last time he did that, France sent a dozen more texts until the English country caved in. England typed a short reply.

**No.**

A really, really short reply. He quickly got a response.

**But why?**

England typed.

**I’m busy. Go bother someone else.**

He waited for a response, preparing all kinds of retorts and insults. He was slightly disappointed when an hour passed without anything more. Don’t get him wrong. It wasn’t like he wanted to hear from the frog, it’s just that he knew this meant France would simply try again later. England finished writing down and editing the last of his speech. He stretched himself and went to make a cup of tea, gasping when an unwelcomed visitor was found in his kitchen.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!” France turned around to give his favorite English speaking country a wink. It looked like he was about to cook something, since he had a frying pan out and some groceries were on the table close by.

“Bonjour Angleterre. Don’t mind me, I’m just making myself a little evening meal.” England asked the obvious next question.

“Why in my house?”

“I figured it was time we started hanging out again. You’ve been rather more distant than usual, you must admit.” Of course he was. Ever since a certain dream that England didn’t dare imagine in his head, England wanted to be as far from France as possible, hoping that he wouldn’t have it again. It was so real, so disgusting and…ignited feelings that England dared not admit to himself.

Because before the dream, England would at least take morning walks, knowing that France wouldn’t be far behind. The pervert had a knack for coming up with any excuse to chat and-more importantly- to piss England off. So of course England’s refusal to take his walks hadn’t gone unnoticed, especially when it came to France, the one country who knew all his routines by heart.

“Get out,” England pointed to the door. France had been expecting this. His smirk was both scary and endearing at the same time. How did he manage to pull off that look?

“Maybe you should call your boss?”

“My boss? Why?”

“Just do it.” He hated being ordered by France but he knew when something was up. England dialed the phone.

“Hello. Um…France told me to call you. Why would he…What? No, I…Why didn’t you tell me? What do you mean you just forgot? No, I simply can’t…Did he bribe you? I demand to know…..Yes, boss.” England hung up with his most fierce glare. It made France want to kiss the scowl since it was so adorable.

“What do you have on him?” A deep, frothy chuckle came from the other nation. He really did sound like a frog when he laughed like that. It was much more charming in England’s dream.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” England arched an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” he clearly didn’t believe it. France turned around to make himself something, pulling out an onion and chopping it with great speed and skill. England glared at him for a few moments longer but France wouldn’t acknowledge him. How rude. First he forced his way here and now he wouldn’t even pay his unwilling host any attention. What else could you expect from France? Manners? England sighed and went to get himself the tea.

His boss said he only had to deal with France for two days but that seemed like such an eternity. He knew that France would use every moment to push his buttons. As annoyed as he was, he was also very nervous. What if France found out something about him he really didn’t want him to? England had tons of journals in his library that he needed to hide in case the stupid frog decided to do some digging. With that in mind, England tried to leave the room to do just that.

“Where are you going?” Flustered at being caught, England fumbled with a lie.

“Um…the loo. Not that you needed to know.” France smirked.

“I’m glad you’re talking to me again. Dinner will be ready shortly.” It took a second for England to process what the other said.

“I don’t want your food. I can cook myself something, thank you very much.”

“But I’m ze guest, so I should do something in return, non?”

“I’m not eating your food. Knowing you, you would probably drug it anyway and molest me in my sleep.” France frowned with a feigned hurt look.

“You don’t really think I would do that, do you? I’m a much better gentleman than that.” England was about to call bull shit when France continued, this time with a playful smirk on his face.

“It wouldn’t be too classy to drug a meal. I think drugging your wine would be much more sensual, don’t you think?” England looked away so that France wouldn’t see his blush. Why, out of all the nations he could get a crush on, did England’s heart chose to love this pervert? Of course, France’s love for sex was something England admired. It was one of his deepest darkest secrets that he had locked away for centuries. No one, not even Scotland knew about England’s fear of his own sexuality. Even before the Victorian era, England felt unsure when it came to sex. Which was the reason for his number one darkest secret. As old as he was this one would be hard to believe. England was still a virgin. Sure, England had erotic dreams every once in a while and there are a few very rare instances where he would pleasure himself. But he always felt so disgusting afterwards that he would soak in a tub for an hour. France let him go without anymore questions.

England went straight to his library and started collecting all his journals. He had one for every occasion. One to jot down his dreams (France really didn’t need to see what was written there), one for business, one for England’s opinions on his latest reads, one for discussing his own relationships (another one France didn’t need to see) and one for everyday activity. Having all the journals stuffed in his hand, England turned around to find a safe place for them. When he saw France right in front of him, he was so shocked that he dropped all his journals on the floor.

There was a bit of concern on France’s face as he went to help England pick them up, his hand going for the dream diary. No, not that one! The most recent entry talked about that stupid dream. England snatched it before France could get it. France looked at him questionably so England tried to explain.

“This is private.”

Evil smirk. “So, these are your journals, Angleterre?”

England made sure they were all his hands and safely out of France’s reach.

“That’s none of your business. Since you forced me to let you stay here, you can at least not pry into my personal things.”

“Who said anything about prying? I didn’t even know what they were until you started acting all flustered.” This shut England up because GODDAMIT France was right. He could’ve just acted calm and France would have assumed they were some light reading material. But England just gave it all away. France suddenly leaned his head in closer.

“You know. You’re cute like this. All embarrassed and such. I could just kiss that expression of yours-” WHAM. France didn’t see the punch until it already made impact. England cursed loudly and ran to his room. He knew France would be bewildered when he recovered since England never acted like this from his flirting. True, he rejected all his advances but never did anything like this. It was because of those damn dreams that England both hoped and feared would come true.


	2. Drunken Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England's fear will soon be revealed.

With great reluctance, England decided that he stalled long enough and left his hiding spot. He didn’t see France right away. Looking over his shoulder every so often, in case France appeared out of nowhere, England walked downstairs into his dining room. His dinner table was covered in cloth and adorned with his favorite dishes and tableware. France was putting out a plate of chicken when he caught England’s eye.

“There you are. Dinner’s ready.”

England wanted to retort but couldn’t find his voice. The chicken smelled so delicious that his stomach gave a loud growl, reminding the English country that he hadn’t bothered to eat all day. Unfortunately his stomach was so loud that France could hear it. The man flashed a smile to his favorite hungry Englishman, completing his charm with a wink.

“Oh, you must be ravenous, dear Angleterre. And why shouldn’t you be? Your food is inedible, after all. No, don’t. I was just joking.”

The stab at his culinary skills made England turned around. France caught onto the threat just in the nick of time. England decided it wasn’t worth it to hide away for a few more hours, especially when he was this hungry and there was a home cooked meal right in front of him. He gave a furtive glance at France, who managed to catch his eye. France was offering a smile that wasn’t so much mischievous as it was intentionally charming. At the very least it wasn’t a lust filled expression, so England felt safe enough to sit down.

“There you go. Let me get the wine.”

“Thank you but I have scotch in my cabinets,” England informed.

France wagged his fingers with a tsk tsk.

“That’s not acceptable. I’ve selected the perfect wine to go with this meal. Drinking anything else would be an insult to moi.”

England bit the retort that he would very gladly insult France. He realized that doing so would turn down free booze and he knew better than that. He could hold in his liquor pretty well, so he accepted, feeling confident that he wouldn’t get drunk.

A while later, England was chuckling like mad, swishing his glass back and forward with zeal. France arched an eyebrow before setting his disappointed eyes on England’s chicken, which was only half eaten.

“Surely you can eat more than that? I pride myself on good cooking, so why aren’t you being like Amerique and gobbling everything up?”

England laughed like France said a funny joke. It was true that the meal was delicious but lately England had a type of hunger that no food could help, not even food cooked by France. His eyes sparkled into France’s.

“I love you.”

France had been sipping at his wine when England proclaimed this. Now he coughed it back up in shock. England stared blankly while France composed himself the best that he could, wiping his lips with his napkin.

“Pardon?”

“I love you,” there was no mistake this time that he was serious, “I want to kiss you.”

Then, as suddenly as a gun shot, England began giggling hysterically. Giggling! Like a high school girl. And the sound was just adorable to France.

The French country came and gave his host a hug. England stood up in his chair to return it but when he went in for a kiss, France tilted his head away. Now England looked hurt.

“What? Don’t you like me?” he demanded with a drunken slur.

“Of course I do, Angleterre. But not like this. I want you to be sober when we have our first kiss.”

England huffed and pulled out of the embrace.

“I’m sober,” he tripped on his own feet even though he was simply trying to stand kin place. France let out a not-so-manly laugh of his own.

“I have trouble believing that, I’m afraid. Why don’t I help you lie down?” 

England seemed excited at the prospect. “You’ll lie down with me?”

France shifted his feet, trying to disguise the fact that he was getting hard the more he heard England talk. The nation’s green eyes were sparking hopefully and it took all of France’s willpower not to kiss him senseless. The only thing stopping him was the fact that England was drunk.

That wouldn’t be acceptable. France had kissed England many times before (much to the other nation’s feigned chagrin) but for a kiss that could only be shared between lovers, a kiss that epitomized love itself, France needed England to be in the right state of mind.

“Of course. Lean on me, mon ami. You’ve done it many times when you’re like this. There you go. Good England.” England had settled himself on France’s shoulder, chuckling slightly.

“I’mnot adog,” his slurring was sounding tired.

“No. You’re un lapin. Mon lapin.”

England was far to gone to try to translate what France said. The two made their way upstairs with some difficulty, but eventually found themselves in front of England’s bed. France laid his friend gently on the mattress, only slightly surprised that England pulled him with him.

As aloof as England like to pretend to be sober, he was quite the cuddler when drunk. As a matter of fact, England was so attached to a warm body in his bed that it reminded France of how much Italy loved to cuddle with Germany or Romano in his sleep. England scooted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around France’s waist. The hold slackened when France realized that England had fallen asleep. With a smile, France kissed his little angel on the forehead.

* * *

 

The light was obnoxiously loud again, signaling to England that he had had too much to drink. He really needed a glass of water and a strong pot of coffee right now.

When he woke up, he was alone. Of course he was. Why did he think differently? He always slept alone. But in his drunk induced sleep he was almost certain that he felt someone was with him as he dozed.

His mouth was quite dry and his tongue felt heavy as he used it to feel around his mouth. The pounding at his head was getting worse, or maybe England was simply noticing it more now. Either way, he was greatly relieved to see some tylenol at his bedside, complete with a small glass of water.

It was only after he had taken the pills and sipped at the water did it dawn on him. He never, ever set medication out for himself before getting drunk. Then who… Suddenly, France burst into the room with a happy stride. The memories came flooding inside England. France coming into his house uninvited, France seeing his journals, France cooking his meal, England drinking and then…blank. He could remember nothing after that.

He just sat there gaping as France inspected him.

“Well, someone’s up. How are you feeling?”

England stammered a bit of nonsense for a couple of seconds before the words finally came out properly.

“What the hell…What happened last night?”

France waved his questioning off with an amuse smile. He took the pleasure in sitting on the bed next to England. Fearfully (albeit with a small twinge of joy), England moved away from the close proximity. France didn’t seemed too upset but he did raise an eyebrow at England’s shyness.

“I didn’t take advantage of you. I know that’s what your thinking. I do wish you would trust me a little more.”

“Why should I?” England demanded with a glare. France merely smirked, which sent a chill down England’s spine.

“Because of what you said last night. While you were drunk.”

Once again, England was at a loss for words. France said nothing and waited for his reply, the smirk still in tact and eyes shining with joy. England felt his whole face grow hot.

“What do you mean? What did I say?”

Damn, there goes that stupid, froggy, sexy chuckle of France’s. England briefly wondered about what it would feel like to kiss France while he was doing that chuckle. He aborted the thought immediately.

“You told me that you loved me.”

“Liar!” England shot out of his bed, towering above France.

The French nation stood up as well. He was no longer smirking or smiling, instead, his face was completely devoid of humor. England couldn’t remember the last time he looked so serious. France moved closer and England was too afraid to back up. He felt France embrace him lovingly and his lips moved toward his ear.

“It’s not nice to call people names, mon amor.”

Amor. Before it was always ami. Now it was amor. England’s French was quite limited but he knew enough to translate what that meant. He felt himself shaking as the oddest combination of emotions welled up inside him. Joy, hope and love. But also uncertainty and fear. Unreasonable and yet powerful terror at the idea of where France would want to take this.

Was it possible to want something yet still be scared shitless of it? England was pulled out of his thoughts when France leaned his head back a little, his lips getting closer to England’s. Oh no. What if England messed up? He really wanted this. This had to be perfect. He had to make sure France was satisfied or else…. Or else…. Their lips met.

* * *

 

I’m going to hell for cliffhangers.


	3. Secret is Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France proposes an idea.

Once their soft lips touched, England felt a surge of panic. France’s eyes were closed but England’s were wide opened like a cornered rabbit. France withdrew when he noted that England wasn’t kissing back. He looked incredibly hurt.

England opened his mouth to say something but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to explain, to tell France that he really wanted to kiss back, that he was too afraid of…of…

What was he afraid of? The kissing? The sex? The love? England couldn’t figure out what it was that sent a chill down his spine, but not knowing what it was made it all the more scary.

France looked away.

“Forgive me. I guess you _were_ just drunk.”

He got out off the bed. England knew he had to say something now, or he would lose France forever. The French country looked so dejected.

“I will not bother you anymore, mon ami. I’ll just-”

“Wait. France, you don’t understand-”

France gave England a sad smile.

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault that you do not return my feelings. Love doesn’t work that way.”

“But I do love you!” England blurted out.

He paused. He had just admitted one of his darkest secrets to the frog. France looked skeptical and England felt his eyes water as he was reminded of America’s Revolution. Here he was again, pouring his heart out and begging for the country to stay.

The tears trickled down. If France left now…if he left now, it would finish England off. He knew he was afraid to love but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell when his loved ones left him.

France looked for the sincerity in England’s tears. His face softened but he still seemed skeptical.

“But zen, why didn’t you kiss back? How can I believe you.”

England couldn’t voice it since he didn’t know himself. But he did have proof that he loved the damn frog. 

“My journals,” he said, “They will tell you. Stay there.”

England rushed forward then came back. Just yesterday he didn’t want France to even peek at these. But the kiss ignited feelings for him. England knew for a fact he loved France and he was more determined than ever to convince France of this.

He gave France the dream journal, pointing at his latest entry. France gave him an odd look before reading. England allowed the silence just so France could realize the truth. It was hard to be quiet when he was so wounded up and ready to explode.

France chuckled lightheartedly and England felt the added weight on his chest lift.

“Oh, so you do love moi. I’m so happy that you’re finally admitting zis when you’re sober.”

France winked, all his humor returning. England was still concerned. He had to explain about the kiss.

“Listen, France. I…I may have this…fear.”

France arched an eyebrow. He leaned closer to England.

“Fear of what?” he whispered in his ear.

“It’s not just you,” he decided to throw that out there immediately, “I’m…I’m afraid to have…sex, I suppose.”

France let out another chuckle but he stopped when he saw that England was serious. England flushed and looked away. Or at least, he tried, but France grabbed his chin and made him look at him in the eye.

“Do you mean to tell me,” France paused, “That you’ve never…”

England froze while his heart raced. France stared at him in disbelief. Then, his expression crashed into pity and horror.

“Oh, mon ami! My dear friend, what a terrible thing to fear something so beautiful! Why didn’t you tell me zis before now? I could’ve helped.”

England got out of France’s hold with a pout. He felt that France was taking the situation too far. It wasn’t like sex was everything and England didn’t appreciate how France was no looking at him as if he was suffering his entire life.

Was being a virgin really so horrifying to France?

“I don’t need your help. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong.” France said without missing a beat.

England sat back down on the bed. He knew that look. France was scheming like the troublemaker that he was. England could tell what he was thinking from centuries of seeing the other country get into mischief. And when sex was involved, England couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble France had in mind. He shuddered.

France sat back on the bed, noting how England tensed up. He smirked. He slowly reached froward, as if he was about to frighten off a little bunny rabbit. Then, tenderly, he clasped England’s hand in his. England felt himself sweating bullets. France was about to try to take this to the next level but he wasn’t ready. What if England didn’t satisfy him? What if France wanted to top and it hurt? What if-

Lips closing in on his ear brought all his thoughts to a halt. It was like everything about England paused completely whenever France was near.

“It is a big deal. And I will help you overcome zis fear.”

England’s mouth went dry.

“France…I don’t think-”

“I know. You’re not ready yet. Do not worry, lapin. I will not force you to do something before you’re ready. But I’m still going to teach you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

England calmed down ever so slightly. Now, he was the skeptic. It sounded too good to be true.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

France held onto his chest, much like he did whenever England insulted him and he wanted to mock a hurt look.

“Oh, you should trust me more. I pride myself on being the country of love.”

“That’s just a stereotype.”

“Everything about all us countries personify stereotypes, amor,” France argued, “Which is why you’re so snobbish.”

“I am not! And that’s rich coming from you France!”

France laughed. The insult made England angry but at least he wasn’t feeling so much fear now. Maybe that was France’s motivation for insulting him? Or maybe France just liked to see him get worked up? Sadly, the latter was easier to believe.

“Therefore, I am ze only one who can teach you.”

England arched an eyebrow.

“What makes you so sure you’re the only one who can?”

France shrugged. He patted England’s cheek, risking a punch his way. England had to tighten his grip to keep from giving the frog a black eye. He may have admitted his love but he wasn’t about to be the frog’s plaything.

That was what he told himself, at least. Deep down, it felt kind of nice to trust France to touch him without going too far for his comfort. France was a pervert, sure but England always knew that he would never do anything unless the other party was completely willing.

Which was why England wanted to be cured of his fear. At the same time, it was France. He should be the last person to teach him about sex.

“I’m ze only one because no one else can touch you.”

The rare possessiveness of his voice sent chills down England’s spine. Along with the fear was also a bit of pleasure. England didn’t know if he wanted to smile or scream and run away. 

He had a bad feeling about this. Suddenly, he wished he never shown France his journal, or admitted that he loved him. He wished that France never kissed him. Had he not, none of this would have happened.

Because if this didn’t work out between them, their relationship could never go back to the way it was. England would lose France and that was the last thing he wanted.

Maybe…maybe if he never got over his fear…he could convince France to stay with him without having to have sex? That would be a perfect compromise. It actually sounded very sensible in England’s head. Whenever France was horny, he could go to someone else. As long as his heart belonged only to England, the other country didn’t care who France slept with. It wasn’t like France didn’t already indulge himself with multiple partners already.

“I’m not so sure this will work out,” England admitted.

France made a tsk tsk noise. Why did he insist on treating England like a child? The action got England’s blood boiling.

“I know it will. Let me give you a class on sexual education. Or, in more appropriate terms, sexual gratification.”

 


	4. Lessson One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England's first lesson. Will it go well?

England tried his best to read his light novel but his mind was too focused on pondering what France had in store for him. The Frenchman had left earlier, telling him that he was going to shop for some things for their first lesson. England was grateful that France had not left him when he found out about his phobia, however, he wasn’t sure about France teaching him anything. Especially when the subject matter was sex related. The thought sent a cool shiver up England’s spine.

His door opened and France strode on in, carrying a few bags. England got up to help him but France cut him off.

“Stay where you are. I want what’s inside to be a surprise.”

Why did France have to smile like that when he spoke? England’s head shot back into his book with hopes that he could ignore what was about to happen. A sex lesson from France. God only knew what the French nation was thinking of doing, or what was in store for England. Was that a droplet of sweat that England felt on his brow? He wouldn’t doubt it. France finished storing everything in their hiding place, then returned with a creepy smile England’s way.

“What now?” England asked, his voice cracking a bit in uncertainty.

“We have our first lesson together.”

First lesson of sex. Did that mean what England thought it did? He…he wasn’t ready. His phobia was now in overdrive at the thought of France touching him somewhere he had never been touched before. French held up his hands when he saw the increased effort in England’s breathing. He knew that he would have to go super slow in order to help his bunny love him, so he chose the easiest thing for England to do.

“Calm down. I won’t touch you at all this lesson. I promise.”

The shoulders eased only slightly, while confusion filled England’s features.

“What? But then…how are you going to…”

“We have to start at the very, very bottom. So all we will do is watch porn together.”

This made England relax a bit. So, no touching at all then? That sounded quite easy, as a matter of-

HOLD. THE. FUCK. UP.

England nearly fell to the floor once the information was fully processed in his head. France intended to watch porn with him? As in, they would be in the same room? That was absolutely mad! There was no way he was going to do that.

“Are you out of your bloody mind? I refuse to watch something as vulgar as…as…”

“ _My Pet Slut_ ,” France informed.

“Why would I want to watch something like that with you? It’s disturbing!”

France held up a finger. “You want to get over your fear, right? And you admitted that you had feelings for me.”

Here, England lowered his defense slightly. “True…”

“Zen I think this will be the best thing to do for our first lesson. Unless you want to just go ahead and try lesson three-“

“Okay okay,” England was now blushing, “We’ll do it your way. But no touching me.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t and I intend to keep that promise. I’m just trying to get you used to sex around me.”

France led the way and England reluctantly followed. The French nation knew his way around England’s home better than England did sometimes. They were in his living area in a matter of seconds, and France grabbed the remote to start the blue ray player. England braced himself as a young man was shown collared around the throat and leashed by another man. France sat in the chair and watched silently, while England had the couch. England took in a gulp of air, bracing himself for when the footage got even worse.

“Good boy, pet. Now lick Master’s feet.”

England felt his member stir at the man’s words, and then twitch a few times when the other man did as instructed. He put one leg over the other in hopes that France wouldn’t see. England happened to glance France’s direction and noticed that he was studying him. This unnerved him but he had been expecting it. England swallowed once more and tried desperately to look collected, when his nervous system was going haywire.

“Do you think we should do this sometime?” France asked, just out of the blue. England nearly shot out of his seat and ran away. His member was achingly harder than it’s been in a long time, even more so than when England started having wet dreams about France. The dreams had them having sex but never had one completely dominate the other. And if England knew France’s train of thought as much as he thought he did, he had a good feeling who France considered the dominating one. That infuriated England but also caused another twitch.

He imagined himself kneeling by France’s feet, collared and humiliated, blushing madly as France’s fingers petted his hair. The fantasy took on a life of its own and ran off without England’s consent. England would try to stand on two feet and France would force him back down and slap him on the arse as punishment.

Another twitch. France would take him out for a walk and everyone would see his pet slut trying to keep up when being forced on all fours. England would try in vain to ignore all the people recording the sight on their phones.

Another few twitches. Finally, France would take him back home and then proceed to fuck him. The last image made England’s hard on too prominent to ignore. Before he realized what he was doing, he moaned out loud. France chuckled as England stood up and rushed toward the loo in embarrassment. They barely watched any porn and already England was a blushing wreck. It looked like France had his work cut out for him. He sighed and paused the player, looking back to where England left. Lesson one wasn’t too much of a success but that was alright. France was a patient nation. He waited centuries for England to even admit his love, after all. He could wait a tiny bit longer.


End file.
